Finding Founders
by madcatkitty
Summary: Sherlock and co. go on a sort of holiday, murders are on the island i made up and eventual torture occurs. T for latr torture and blood ect. NO SLASH! unless you count John and Sarah.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello!**

**This be my first EVER fic so, err... Any reviews on things I've done wrong are welcome (as long as you don't hurt my fweelings ;) ). This is basically about Sherlock and co. going on a sort of holday, it's eventually going to get abit morbid as I enjoy writing that kind of stuff ( cuz I'm weird).**

**I don't own these characters (unless they're the ones I made up), I just attempt to write stories about them.**

**:3**

Finding founders

"So, you looking forward to Cuba?" John asked happily as they made their way to the aeroplane "You tell me." answered Sherlock, still facing forward "Errr... You look pretty blank to me, are you bored?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, people just don't observe, he thought as he showed a smiley lady his passport and ticket to make his way to the aeroplane.

Sherlock glanced back at the rest of his party, Lestrade, Donavan and Anderson had invited him and John on an 'abroad service experience' which was code word for holiday. They only invited him and John so they would do most of the work. Sherlock had agreed only because he hoped the crimes in Cuba would be more interesting that that of in London. John had invited Sarah along in hope that he would make up for the non-stop days he had recently spent on a case with Sherlock.

John could tell that Sarah was just as amused as he was, neither had thought to ask Sherlock if he got flight sickness, but they could tell by the look on the consulting detective's face that they should have brought travel sickness tablets. "You sure your alright, Sherlock? Your looking a bit clammy." John asked, his response was a smirk from Lestrade, who was sat next to Sherlock, and a rather weak scowl from the grey-faced Sherlock himself. John looked at Sarah, she was looking pretty in her turquoise flowery dress, she seemed happy for now, good, thought John, he new after their first date when she had been caught in the middle of an investigation and nearly killed that she had become weary of where he was taking her and what they were doing, he hoped this 'holiday' would make her warm to him a bit more, even though he was supposed to be working.

The flight was drawing to a close, it had been filled with Donavan and Anderson constantly making flirty faces at each other and John and Sarah having sweet conversations and generally getting to know each other better. Sherlock, on the other hand, spent most of his time trying not to vomit (he had failed) and having small conversations with Lestrade before going back to controlling his stomach.

Everyone was happy to get off the plane and stretch their legs but now came the daunting task of putting up with each other long enough to find where they were staying. They were actually not staying in Cuba but on a small island near by called Sethal. "The map says we should head along this street then go right until we come to Gogn road, then just turn left and we should be there..." Lestrade stated before being interrupted by Sherlock  
>"No, Gogn road is closed," they all sighed and looked to Sherlock to explain "There's a sign, behind you all saying so." The next few moments were filled with mutterings and eye rolling before they all had a discussion about the quickest route there.<p>

They had all managed to squish into one taxi, although there was an awful lot of being elbowed in the stomach, and eventually made it to the holiday home they would be staying at with surprisingly few arguments. John had managed to get a pretty good room for him and Sarah, it was a double bed but John pulled out a rusty camp bed from a cupboard just incase. The room had a nice view of the beach in front of the house, it was painted cream, had an en-suite bathroom and a blissfully cooling fan. After looking at the room John started to unpack his things, he had obviously left his jumpers and thick jackets at home. Sarah had gone with him to buy some hot-weather clothes so he now had Instead, short-sleeved shirts, t-shirts, cargos and a pair of sun glasses. Sarah had some dresses, skirts, shorts and lot of other clothes John didn't really notice. After unpacking, John met with Sherlock in the lounge. It had a wooden floor and much like every other room in the house, had cream walls, it was furnished with a wooden coffee table, a sofa and a couple of arm chairs. There was no television; John suspected that was to encourage people to get out and about on the island. Sherlock was currently dressed in a navy blue, collared, short-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of White cargos. It was certainly a change from the smart clothes he would normally wear. "You could wear a turtle neck you know." John teased as he thought of Sherlock in the scarf replacement. The edges of Sherlocks mouth twitched after a pause to imagine it. After a brief silence, Sherlock asked "Do you want to come to check out the police station they have here?"  
>"Errm ... I think I should stay with Sarah for awhile, but tell me if you go running after a vicious murderer."<br>The mouth twitch happened again and Sherlock set off throng the French doors in the direction of the village.

The sign posts around Sethal were in English, so Sherlock navigated his way around the island with ease. He eventually came to a large, brick building named Sethal station, how very creative, Sherlock thought as he entered the building and headed to the reception. Almost as soon as he was confirmed to be working here for the next week, Sherlock was handed a case, that, apparently, everyone else was too 'busy' to do. "Amateurs." He muttered under his breath, just because a case is a little bit out of their depth, they get put off or scared that they'll get it wrong. The file read:

Crime-  
>6 deaths<p>

Locations:  
>Octnava house<p>

Falshnor field

Gargh house

Nalchor house

Rackre lake

Flakriret road

Date:  
>August 10th<p>

Victims:  
>Harvey Mackles<p>

Fair Felmuch

Sammy Geotson

Joseph Calamar

David Aniture

Yasmin Colmoore

Links:  
>Victims killed on same day.<br>Stabbed in similar ways, stomach cut open.

John was just sitting down for a cup of tea with Sarah when Sherlock burst in, and,despite the fact he was obviously out of breath from running here, he was shouting "BEST ISLAND EVER!"  
>"I'm glad your enjoying yourself, care to elaborate?"<br>"6 murders all linked but hardly any information! Isn't it great?"  
>Sarah looked worriedly at Sherlock and cut in "It's not too great for the people's family."<br>Sherlock looked as though he was trying not to roll his eyes so John explained "He means it's some thing for him to do."  
>Sarah gave a little 'Oh' of understanding and sipped her tea.<p>

After a quick scan through the files, John was asked if he wanted to go to the locations of the murders. "I think I'll stay here, you know, to keep Sarah company."  
>Sarah looked up from where she was sat "Actually I think I'll come with you, I guess it'll give me a chance to look around the island then."<br>He hadn't really expected her to say that, there was no worry or weariness in her voice. It wasn't exactly out of the ordinary, not wanting to be left alone with three people she hardly knew. John looked to Sherlock for confirmation who simply shrugged and stared into space. John told Sarah to change into some running clothes and when she was done, the three of them set off to the first location, Octnava house.

They were greeted by a rather perturbed Anderson. "Got a call from the police station saying you'd picked up a case. I WAS going to have a stroll down the beach but you've wrecked that one, haven't you?"  
>"Hello to you too, Anderson. And I think we both know what you were actually doing."<br>"Oh really?"  
>"Yes and I'm sure it had something to do with sergeant Donovan over there," he nodded towards Donovan, who was talking to an apparent local, but stopped when she spotted Sherlock "she's wearing your shirt." Donovan looked shocked for a moment, probably just noticing the bagginess of the shirt; she then scowled and muttered something along the lines of 'freak' before returning to interviewing people. Mean while Sherlock collected what little information Anderson had gathered, which consisted of the fact that no one in the area had seen anything and that the security cameras often malfunction and on that particular night, they were working fine until 0:45 AM and then started back up at 1:01, so in that time the murder must have happened. Sherlock, John and Sarah then made their way to the bedroom where the murder happened. The body was as the file had described it to be. It was a teenager, no older than 16 or 17, he had longish blonde hair, tanned skin, was tall and quite lean. His shirt had been left on and it was stained in blood. The boys stomach had been ripped open, blood and guts spilled out in front of him. "Nice." Sarah murmured, she had turn quite pale and was trying to look away. "So, anything to go off?" John asked, his arm round Sarah to comfort her. Sherlock started his deduction "The blade was strong, you can tell from the way it easily cut through the skin and muscles, but the wound is jagged, meaning the culprit was hurrying, might have known he only had a certain amount of time, which could mean he tampered with the security cameras, we'll have to look into that, the culprit must have been quick and clever judging by the way hardly any traces have remained, except the one on the windowsill, a stain of blood and it wasn't from Harvey over there, his blood is spilt in the opposite direction, so this is from the killer when he made his exit, but this is the third floor and the drop from here has no where you can grab hold of something if your jump goes wrong, so the murderer is strong in both arms and legs." John and Sarah just stared as Sherlock made his conclusion going at a mile a second, poking the body with such little care that it may have even disgusted the killer himself.<p>

They hadn't found anything else of use so they had headed back to the house, John was now discussing with the rest of the group what to do next. "So we'll do the  
>tour of the island?" John concluded<br>"I still think it will be dull." Sherlock complained  
>"Well at least it tells us about the history of this place, and we'll be able to find our way around the island better." Sherlocks just groaned, the rest of the group spilt up to get their things ready. John chuckled lightly at how awkward it was for Anderson and Donovan to go into their shared bedroom, one went in and the other waited until they were done until going in themselves. John knocked on his and Sarah's door, as he entered, he saw Sarah quickly tie up her dress, something slightly more formal than the shorts and vest top she had been wearing when she was with him and Sherlock. He quickly changed into a shirt then went to meet everyone in the lounge.<p>

Sherlock knew he was going to get bored but he didn't have enough evidence for the case to amuse himself with that, I don't need to know about the history of this place, he thought as the group gathered round a short, plump, tour guide, this isn't going to help with the case so theres no need for it. "Hello everyone! I'm Fred and I'll be your tour guide," The man had a surprisingly deep voice, considering his size "This place was founded by to people, Humphrey Melton and Freddie Falchor. Fred! Like me..." Sherlock zoned out at that point, but Fred boomed on for some time before Sherlock got a tap on the shoulder "Sherlock. Sherlock, did you hear that?" John hissed in his ear  
>"Huh? Something about where the founders were born and died?"<br>"Yes. Did you hear where though?"  
>"No, it's not really important to me."<br>"Well it should be, Humphrey was born in Octnava house! And he died in Nalchor house! And Freddie was born in Falshnor field and died in Rackre lake!"  
>Sherlock's eyes lit up at that moment "A puzzle! Finally something interesting coming from this tour!"<br>"A puzzle?" Sarah asked, she had been listening in on the conversation, deciding it was more interesting than listening to Fred go on and on.  
>"Yes, we have some kind of link finally, but we don't know why the murderer did it or what the other two people were for."<br>"Maybe they were on to the murderer and they had to be rid of." Sarah mused  
>"No, the killer was careful and wouldn't want the puzzle to be wrecked by two spare people. Plus they were all at completely different points on the island."<br>They mused over it for a bit before turning back to Fred so he wouldn't get irritated, Sherlock was now content that he had something to think about instead of having his head filled with a load of useless information (although he now thought more of it) that he probably wouldn't use again.

They quickly headed back to the house when the tour was finished, Sherlock and John arranged all the clues they had on pieces of paper to see if they could work out more links. "So four deaths are linked to the founders, and we don't know what the other two are for? Are you sure you heard it right, John? There isn't a third?" Lestrade asked, looking at the various notes spread about the coffee table.  
>"I'll go and check on my laptop."<br>John then disappeared in to his room. Lestrade looked up when he realised something "The first two people that were killed, their initials are the same as the founders."  
>"Yes!" Sherlock scribbled it down on to another piece of paper and placed it in to the huddle of other clues. John re-entered the room, setting the laptop down on he table. "No, definitely two, all the sites say so, even the official one."<br>"Hmmm, we'll have to ask around the island, the locals might know something. We better check out the other crime scenes before it gets too late." Sherlock looked out the window, it was 5:00 PM and the sun was starting to set. Everyone immediately set about getting in to more casual clothes and getting a taxi, you would normally just book them around here. This time they had two taxis so the ride wouldn't be as painfully as the last one.

The first three locations they looked at didn't give anything away, but at Rackre lake, there was blood splattered over a certain tree. It stood out because it was at the opposite side of the lake from the body. John starred at the crusty, dried blood for a moment before calling Sherlock over "Sherlock! There's something on this tree!" a few seconds later Sherlock was by his side, looking the tree up and down "Attends, John! Do you speak French?"  
>"A bit, but Sarah knows more. Sarah!"<br>"Yes? What is it?"  
>Sherlock answered "French. What does it say?"<br>"Erm... It says 'wait for it'" Sarah translated, bewildered. Sherlock didn't say much after that and John suspected he wasn't sharing something with them, they had quickly looked at the last location, and, finding nothing new, they had headed back to the house. All John could get out of Sherlock was that they were waiting for some thing, John had already deciphered that, and after that he had been told to relax and enjoy the break. Anderson and Donovan were joining John and Sarah in a nice cup of tea, they were being surprisingly civilised and nice, thought John, but he supposed they only ever acted grumpy because of Sherlock. Speak of the devil "We're out of tea bags!"  
>"Go and get some then!" John called back over his shoulder<br>"Do you want to come?"  
>"Can't Lestrade?"<br>"He's asleep!"  
>"Fine." John muttered as he got up from the sofa. He left his cup on the counter top behind the sofa, waved everyone a friendly good-bye and left to meet Sherlock out side.<p>

Sherlock waited impatiently for John out side the house, it was a warm night and he felt odd not wearing his usual long coat and scarf. John eventually came out of the French doors and they set off walking to the store. "Ok so whats the real reason you dragged me out here?"  
>"Why John, this level of suspicion coming from you is very strange. Why would you suspect me of lying?"<br>"Because I don't see why you would make such a fuss over not having any tea bags. Besides, there was a new box of them at the back of the cupboard."  
>"Well i just thought since we had nothing to do, we could use the time to question the locals about the founders of this place."<br>"Nothing- Nothing to do! Sherlock I was clearly having a conversation with everyone else! You just pulled me out here because you got bored and wanted to investigate!"  
>Sherlock ignored this little out burst and picked up the pace until they came to a small corner shop. The shop was called 'Melavo's'; it had all the essentials and nothing more, except for some sweets that children can pester their parents for. The shop keeper -presumably Melavo him self judging by the calendar behind him stating that it is his shift tonight- was dark skinned, slightly over weight and wore a casual t-shirt and jeans. "Melavo, I presume." Sherlock greeted him, a tight smile on his face and a hand held out. "Yes and you are?"<br>Melavo shook Sherlock's hand cautiously.  
>"Sherlock. Me,John over there and some, errr... Friends," Sherlock wasn't sure that was the right word for the people back at the house but he didn't want Melavo getting suspicious because he thought the police were after him "we just wanted to meet the locals."<br>Melavo narrowed his eyes for a moment before straightening himself up and telling them that they are welcome to his help, Sherlock took this for word and asked if it was true there are only two founders of this island. "Yes, just the two, brothers in-fact. The third brother was very jealous when he found out, some say he even went mad and killed himself."  
>Sherlock thought about this, words can get twisted along the way, three brothers, two turn against the other, and death, covered up on the unpopulated island. He'd have to look into it a bit more. They quickly bought some tea, John was quite perturbed that he had to pay when it was Sherlock's idea, and left.<p>

John found the walk home peaceful, the warmth of the nights here certainly made a change front the chilly nights back in London. It was peace full, until Sherlock spotted a news agent, just closing, and decided to ask about the founders there. "Hello, there, Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock greeted a youngish man with messy hair, the man muttered something about closing much to late and stopped what he was doing "me and my friend John here are on holiday, we went on the tour done by Fred. John thought he said that there are three founders of this island but I'm not so sure, do you know?" John thought their cover up sounded a bit suspicious, coming into a newsagent at night just to ask a history question. But the man didn't seem to doubt it as he answered "Well there's three Humphrey Melton, Freddie Falchor and Sebastian Golmore, they were all brothers." John exchanged surprised glances with Sherlock "Cool, and err... Where was Sebastian born and where did he die?"  
>" He was born in Gargh house and died at Flakriret road. Were you listening to that tour?"<br>" Errr... On and off, my hearing a bit um, funny,"John lied, terribly" Did you say your name, what is it?"  
>"Alistair... Golllll...Golton, yes, Golton." He answered rather uncertainly. John and Sherlock said good-bye and bid a hasty retreat. As they made their way home, he and Sherlock discussed the clues they had, the murders had happened where the founders were born and where they died, the first three people who were killed had the same initials as said founders. The murder was obviously linked to the fact the only time Sebastian Golmore was mentioned was at that newsagents by Alistair 'Golton' (Sherlock said he would ask around and see if that was his actual name).<p>

Sherlock sprinted into the lounge, where everyone was watching a film, shouting "Lestrade! Get Lestrade!" John followed more slowly behind him.  
>"Oh what now?" Anderson grunted as Sherlock caught his breath. Sarah wen to wake Lestrade as Sherlock and John explained what went on whilst they were out. As they finished, a shout came from Lestrade's bed room at the other end off the building "HE'S GONE!" Sarah's yell came out clearer as everyone got into ear shot. She was right, all that was in front of Sherlock and the rest of them was an unpacked suite case, some clothes and an empty bed.<p>

Sherlock didn't have to be asked to start finding traces to Lestrade's whereabouts or at least a clue to who took him. After a good ninety minutes of searching every where in Lestrade's room, all they had uncovered was that the culprit wore shoes that can only be bought round here, everyone was amazed -not so much surprised- that Sherlock had looked at the bit of plastic that was on the floor and immediately identified that it had come from a type of shoe that's only manufactured in this region. They'd have to start looking at people's shoes now. Sherlock was then persuaded by John that everyone needed a good rest or jet lag would make them worn out and that they could go 'shoe spotting', as John had so fondly put it, in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

John awoke in the morning from a peaceful, long sleep refreshed and ready for the challenges the day would hold. He had all ways been able to sleep through the worst of things bombs, guns, death, he wasn't surprised that a missing Lestrade wasn't any different, although he was a friend; John had been to tired to worry over him. But it was all flooding over him now, questions of panic for his lost friend raced through John's mind: Where have they taken him? Why are they doing this? What are they going to do to him? And a question for the rest of the group made John shudder, who's going to be next? The mist of questions that surrounded his mind slowly thinned out as he saw Sherlock, asleep, on the couch. "Sherlock! What are you doing there? Why aren't you in your bed?"  
>A sleepy groan and a sigh was his reply as Sherlock sat up, his holiday clothes creased where he had slept. "My bed was too far away for me to walk when I got in."<br>"When you got in? Does that mean you went out again?"  
>John was told off for asking such a stupid question and that Sherlock had gone to the police station, just about the only place open at that time of nightmorning, and inquired whether Alistair's real last name is Golton. Sherlock was informed that Alistair had changed his name last year, Golton is now his proper last name, but what was interesting was what Alistair's original last name had been. Golmore. Also, the police had no records of a Sebastian Golmore every being on the island. "So there's a missing founder. What do you think this has to do with the murders?"  
>"Well if you're a descendent of a founder of an island, then your bound to have the families' wealth. But if the founder's never been herd of..."<br>"Then the descendants going to want to get that wealth by getting the founder known. But why would Alistair kill to get renown?"  
>"That's another thing the police told me, Alistair's been bugging them for fame because some one they don't even have records of helped 'find' this island. They've been denying him any sort of renown."<br>John went over it, it does make some sense, but Alistair must be a bit funny in the head to go around killing people. Sherlock confirmed this thought, saying he went over Alistair's medical records.

The day had been a lot less productive than yesterday, Sherlock had dragged the whole group (minus one ) around the island looking at every persons shoes. They had gotten many strange looks for this; small children asked their parents if they were the shoe police, John was starting to think that half way through the day. Eventually Anderson persuaded (I say persuaded... More like threatened to punch him repeatedly until the smartness was smacked out of him and burnt to ashes) Sherlock to instead take them to Alistair's shop. When they got to the shop though, they found out Alistair had closed it down, much to the disappointment of Sherlock. This had taken them back to the house at about four o clock, Sarah suggested they all go out for a meal as they hadn't had much to eat that day. Sherlock stayed, saying it would be much more productive to try and find a lead, this left four of them.

It was now six o clock and they were at a beautiful restaurant by the beach, seats that looked out on to the sea had been reserved for them. The place was quite formal so each person in their small group was wearing something smart. Anderson was wearing a shirt, tie and black suite trousers, no jacket, John wasn't surprised though, it was even warmer than last night and he suspected Anderson would have his sleeves rolled up by the end of the meal. Donavan was wearing a denim skirt, leggings and a no-sleeved t-shirt. Sarah, who was sat next to John, wore a tight, colourful, long top and some three-quarters. John himself had changed into a short sleeved shirt and some cargos; just about the most formal thing he had brought that wouldn't cause him to sweat excessively in this heat. The meal was very nice and the evening had been filled with interesting conversations about life out side of the cases and occasional light banter. They all got home at about eleven to find an irritable Sherlock pacing the living room. "No leads then?"  
>Sherlock grunted which John took as a 'nothing yet'. They decided it was best to just leave him be or he'd get annoyed with all of them.<p>

John awoke in the night to the sound of the window sliding smoothly shut. He jerked up, suddenly realising Sarah wasn't in bed. He quickly grabbed the hardest thing at arm's reach, a lamp, and looked out of the window. Just as he had feared, a man too far away for John to see was carrying a brown sack that looked worryingly like Sarah was running further away into the darkness of the night. As soon as John saw this, he violently wrenched up the heavy window, lamp in hand, and ran in the direction of the mysterious man. Rocks cut into his feet as he sprinted along the road, the gap between John and the man was closing and soon he saw the familiar body-shaped bag. The area surrounding the holiday home was very peaceful so no one saw when John threw the lamp as hard as he could into the man's head, a satisfying cry of pain and shock coming from his mouth. John did not know this man, he wore White top and black cargos, his hair was short and dark brown, it was sticking to his face with sweat that was dripping down his face. John attempted grabbing the sack that contained Sarah from the man's strong grip but was kicked hard in the legs and fell to the floor. John was then repeatedly kicked in the stomach before the man ran off again with Sarah. Ignoring the awful pain as he had been trained to do, John set off at full speed towards the thief, he's not going to lay a finger on her without getting punched in the face, John thought to him self as he rugby tackled the man, knocking him on to the floor and Sarah a metre away. He flinched as he herd Sarah scream, she'll be fine, he told himself, your going to capture this thief and bring him to Sherlock for questioning and it'll all be fine. It wasn't. John thought the man had been knocked out but he hadn't checked properly in his haste to get Sarah out of the bag. Now there was a ten centimetre long wound in his right leg, bleeding horrendously. Again he attempting to push the pain back, pulling open the sack at the same time to find a rather shocked Sarah "Run, you have to run." he told her as he turned to hold off the man now looming over them, she had the common sense not to argue and she ran off in her pyjamas back to the house. This was the last thing John saw before something hard smacked into his temple and blackness in his vision showed he was unconscious.

Sherlock woke up in his room to the sound of Sarah screaming at the top of her voice "THEY'VE TAKEN HIM! THEY'VE TAKEN JOHN!" Sherlock was immediately up, he wasn't frightened or worried, he wasn't sure what he felt, but it was something. He was soon joined in running down the corridor by Anderson and Donovan and eventually came to the living room. Sarah was sobbing like a waterfall, the tears stained her face and she was hugging her self, for comfort, Sherlock thought, he knew that this was the point when someone would put an arm around her and say something comforting. Sherlock didn't do comforting, but he didn't have to when Donovan did it for him, satin in a low voice that they would find him whilst gesturing for the two boys to take a look at the room. Sherlock left without question, he was never very good with emotions, he was still confused about how he felt about John being stolen, and they had been friends for some time but Sherlock didn't necessarily feel sad that John had been taken but he certainly didn't feel happy. His trail of thought disappeared as he entered John and Sarah's room. Sarah must have supposed to have been taken, that was obvious as Sarah wouldn't have gone after John because she would have been asleep. Sarah sleeps heavily, Sherlock found this out when he had played violin last night and he only got complaints from Anderson and Donovan - that didn't stop him though- John had slept to, but he tends to wake when there's real danger. So Sarah had been captured and John had gone after them through... The window! It was thrown up at such force it had stayed there; John must have taken a weapon, the lamp! Before Anderson could say anything, Sherlock was out the window and wandering away "Sherlock! What are y- Ugh!" and then Anderson was out the window following him. Sherlock ignored the darkness of the moonless night; soon he found the spot where Sarah had got away. There was blood, a lot of it. Where ever John is now, he must have been hurt badly. "Did you have to do that?" temptation to roll his eyes was over taking Sherlock but held back and answered "We've been through this before Anderson, must I spell it out to you? Your. Face. Blocking. My. Intelligence." Anderson's turn to resist an eye roll. "Anything?" Anderson asked impatiently, Sherlock shook his head; this scene was annoyingly clean of clues. Sherlock decided a look when it was day may show something better.

Pain. Consciousness came to John slowly and the wound in his leg and head were agonising, plus the spot where the kicks had been applied to were blossoming into one painfully big bruise. John let out a groan and a figure next to him in the darkness shifted " John? Oh, thank God you're awake!" At first John struggled to remember the voice but he got help from the person "It's me, Lestrade. How are your wounds? I can't make them out in this bloody darkness." He was right, it was pretty dark and the only light came from three small holes in the roof of the tall room that moonlight drifted down. John suddenly realises he hadn't answered Lestrade and the DI is looking concerned. "Errr... There's a deep gash in my right leg, I've been kicked in the stomach and, errr... Oh yeah, something hard hit me in the head and caused a cut."  
>"How are you feeling?"<br>"Confused."  
>"Ah, well, you've been drugged, as has every one else in here. They come in here and drug you, then the next time they come in and beat you then drug you. And it gets worst from there, you'll be able to see every one else when it's morning."<br>Drugged! Of course! Why hadn't he noticed it?  
>"Are you ok?"<br>"Fine they haven't been in since they brought you. I expect next time I won't be so lucky. Everyone else has been through at least one of the beating stages, Doug at the end is in a pretty bad way, maybe you can help in the morning."  
>John decided he could probably make out Doug's wounds in the dark and slowly pulled him self up against the cold stone wall behind him. When he got up he noticed something digging into his right ankle. A chain, probably attached to the wall, John hated what drugs did to your mind. He slowly started to feel the pain in his cut leg as the drugs wore off and John cried out, clutching his bloody leg. Lestrade managed to catch John before he smacked his head against the uncomfortably cold floor. "What is it John?" Lestrade asked, panicking<br>John cried out again before answering " My leg, they've done something to it! It could be infected." The last part was barley more than a whisper as John rolled up his pyjama leg, he could make out Lestrade squinting to make out the damage done, John did the same. The skin around the wound was swollen badly and the cut was still open, puss staring to come out of it, there was also a painful, warm redness around the wound. It was defiantly the beginnings of an infection.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock stared at the people in front of him, they were all asleep in various positions and places in the living room, they all got tired after about two hours of worrying over John and had fallen asleep. Donovan was still hugging Sarah on the couch who was flinching in her sleep. Anderson was sprawled out on an arm chair that he had pulled up to the sofa and currently had his hand on Sarah's head. The sun had come up an hour ago but annoyingly, Sherlock still hadn't found any other leads to where John had been taken. He would just have to go out to the police station to see if any other links had been found. Sherlock put on some black cargos and a white, short sleeved shirt, along with some black convertibles. He spared a last glance at the small group; they were still sleeping, and set off. He eventually made it to the police station by walking as there were hardly any cabs about on this island. He sauntered into the reception area and asked the man at the desk if anything that may be linked to the recent murders has happened. After a few minutes of looking, the man came back with four files explaining that  
>each one is about a missing person and that Sherlock should take a look at the crime scenes. As it was early in the morning, Sherlock didn't get the other three to come, mostly because they'd most likely beat him to death. Instead he walked again to the nearest crime scene, as far as Sherlock knew none of the places were linked this time, or the people murdered. He ended up at 34 Reacore road, a small terrace house, nothing unusual about it from the outside, Sherlock thought, but apparently there's something on the inside. He made his way through the<br>wooden door into a spacious yet crowded room, full of police officers. On the far wall, inscribed in what was supposed to look like blood, was the word 'sept', French for seven.

The room was filled with the first lights of dawn; John could now make out the area he was incased in and the people surrounding him. The room was like John would expect a dungeon to look like, it was entirely made out of stone and stretched high up, about five times the hight of an average person. There was no-one to John's left but six, including Lestrade, to his right. After Lestrade, everyone was in an awful state. He could see Dough in the corner, blood streaming out of the long wounds of torture he had received, inevitably staining his clothes. He suddenly noticed the person next to Lestrade, a child! They'd taken a child! No more than twelve! John calmed himself; he would have to check up on them later. Everyone was asleep, the ones with wounds were probably used to it, but John had stayed awake, the swelling and redness on his leg had gone up and even started to go black around the edges of the gash. He was going to check up on the bruises on his stomach when the door opposite him swung open and smacked against the wall. A group of strong men dressed in black trooped in, blocking all exits and surrounding the small group. Everyone immediately awoke, starring at the men that would soon torture them. Non of them screamed, John noticed, even with the men brandishing their weapons in the victims faces, they had learnt that no one was coming. Everyone stood up except for John, who had no idea what was going. One of the men dragged John to his feet, causing him to screech with pain and the others in the group to give him sympathetic looks. John didn't see what happened next, he had his eyes closed as he wouldn't be able to stand the sight of torture. He could hear awful screams of unalloyed pain and suffering, the ones further away from him went on for longer 'it gets worse from there' how long until someone dies? That was the last thought that went through John's mind before a needle stuck into his arm and it all went appallingly black.

According to the other officers, all the other crimes scenes had numbers in French (Sebastian's language, Sherlock had found out) written on the walls, going down to 'quatre'. Sherlock immediately wanted to go to the house, for once trusting the police that there wasn't much else to see -he decided he didn't actually trust them and would search them later, the idiots couldn't observe properly anyway- and set off home to check John and Lestrade's rooms. He arrived to find the other three had beaten him to it, hey had all gathered in John's and when Sherlock came in they all shouted him in. The room had not been touched but on the bed, written in strong dark red paint, was the word 'deux', French for two. "What's it counting down? Three is in Lestrade's room." Sarah began.  
>"Yes, I figured that. Untouched?"<br>"Yes, nothing to go off."  
>Anderson described, leaving to show Sherlock the other man's room. He followed, interested in where this psychopath was going. Lestrade's room was the same, only with the number three written in French on the ceiling in that same blood red paint. There was still nothing to go off, he must do this with more care than the killing, probably enjoys that more.<p>

He and the rest of the group set off to the other crime scenes. Sherlock was very irritated by the end of it, even Anderson kept his snide comments and insults to himself. All of the houses were perfectly clean and no traces remained from the culprit -only some paint on the window ledge but Sherlock had already been through that deduction. Before they went back home, Sherlock insisted that they go to the police station to ask about Alistair. They again ended up walking even though several taxis passed them, it took them about twenty minutes all together and everyone except for Sherlock was worn out by the quick pace. The doors swung open as Sherlock store in as if he owned the place and approached the officer at the desk. "Any news on Alistair Golton?"  
>He asked, arm rested on the desk casually, Anderson, Donovan and Sarah stood behind him.<br>"He has moved out but there are no records of him leaving the island yet."  
>"Any idea where he might be staying."<br>"No, no one's heard anything of Alistair. Although there is a part of the island no one goes, it's been said to be off limits but it isn't real."  
>"Oh well, do you have a map we could use?"<br>"Yes I'll just go and yet it for you."  
>And with that he was off. They all waited surprisingly patiently together for ten minutes until the man padded back into the room, map in hand and they all hurriedly set off, wanting to get to Lestrade and John as fast as they could.<p>

Pained groans brought John back into consciousness. By his side Lestrade gripped a new bloodied wound on his hip, his trousers stained with the stuff. John appeared to have no cuts but the drugs they had given him were strong and they fogged his thoughts. He could hardly fit the words together when he asked "arre y-you alrght?"  
>Lestrade looked up at him from his slouched position; he looked as though he had been given weaker drugs than John as the pain from his gash was evident on his face. "Yeah, it hurts like hell though, even with the drugs."<br>"Let m-me luk."  
>John mumbled as he lent over to inspect the wound on Lestrade's left side. It was covered in blood although it didn't look to bad but John needed to clean it up. He looked around the room for someone with a jacket, then he noticed a new figure to his right. Those bloody evil... He started to think when the person moaned and started to come into consciousness. "Lestrade! Look!"<br>He hissed to the DI and pointed to the new victim.  
>"What the hell do those guys think they're doing? You can't torture a pregnant lady, it's down right evil!"<br>The woman fliched and wide, panicked eyes opened, studying the area wildly and turning ridged next to John. "Are yoolright? Did the hurt you?" John tried to say calmly but his mind wouldn't let him speak properly yet  
>"N-no, no they didn't I'm fine, where are we?"<br>She asked, scared stiff  
>"Wu don't know. But is nowhr gud."<br>"Are you ok? You sound drunk or something."  
>"No, the thu drgs the've givn me are really strung though. I'm John by thu way, whts ur name?"<br>"Connie, I haven't been drugs have I?"  
>She asked worriedly, feeling her womb, she was about eight months pregnant.<br>"No no, yu seem fine, I'l luk aftr yu though, am a doctur yu see."  
>John comforted her, squeezing her hand, he had to focus hard to do so though. He then suddenly took off his shirt, this seemed to confuse Connie abit until he turned round and used it to wipe blood off of the wound on Lestrade's side "Yeah, thu wound ain't that bad, Just keep this pressed on it." he ordered the man who now seemed to be looking less paler. At that point he explained to Connie what was going to happen - the drugs were starting to wear off so he could speak better- and tell her that he wouldn't let her get hurt or drugged. After that small conversation, he studied the other's wounds. No one's wounds seemed life threatening although he ordered them to clean the cuts as best they could. John was mainly concerned about Doug, who was barely conscious. But Abbey, who was currently next to him, assured John she would clean his cuts. "John! What happened to your leg?" Connie exclaimed, pointing at the infected wound, it was getting quite bad now, they must have been knocked out for a few hours, he thought as he inspected the black and red swelling. "One of them did it to me when I was trying to help my, err, friend Sarah escape. The guy got me instead."<br>he explained, using his now bloody pyjama top to wide up the foul puss producing from the agonising gash. Connie winced, a cut like that would become fatal when not treated and his leg could be amputated if they got out of here. If.

When the door smashed open John new exactly what was going on, he stood up, trying not to collapse from the waves of needle sharp pain coming from his leg. Like the last time, he closed his eyes shut and waited for the cries of suffering. This time, he would join them. A heavy leather grip lashed at his bear chest, John could feel the sticky warmth of blood slowly dripping down his body, like drool from a dog's mouth. He only just managed to stay on his feet, now resting all his weight on his left leg. As more horrific caterwauling echoed from the other ends of the room, a syringe was jabbed carelessly into his arm. He prized his eyes open from the comfortable blackness he had preferred and was just in time to see Connie having a needle being prepared in front of her. John managed to make himself focus enough to smack the needle out of the dark man's hand, smashing it against a wall and bringing all attention in the room to himself. As the strong, armoured men gathered around John, their anger practically splattering the walls, he summoned a "l-leeeve hur b-be." before weapons were being flashed in front of his now pale face. He felt a sharp knife ever so slowly and carefully trail from the middle of his ribs to the top of his cargos, the people left conscious in the room cried out at this action and John felt skin tear and produce warm liquid making his skin form in to goosebumps. His breathing quickened. His senses darkened. He let out one last, heart wrenching, agonising whimper. Then there was nothing.


End file.
